


what hides in the past

by earlgreyson



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Harry Potter, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Unspeakable Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 05:17:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21069497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreyson/pseuds/earlgreyson
Summary: Draco is doing some unpacking while Harry's at work and stumbles across something that makes him question what he really knows about Harry's childhood.





	what hides in the past

**Author's Note:**

> kind of a study of their relationship, unbeta'd we die like men.

It’s an abnormally hot spring day when Draco starts to realise there are things in Harry’s history that he still doesn’t know. They’d been rivals for seven years, friends for three, and dating for two, and the past was something they tended to leave be. Long nights had been dedicated to hard discussions early in their relationship. Their shared history turned over as hands grasped at each other, secrets and apologies bubbling from their tongues.

But still, beyond knowing that Harry had been raised by his mother’s sister, there isn’t much that Draco can recall about the man’s early years.

Harry’s at work, wrapping up a case and then meeting the Weasleys for dinner. Draco had declined the standing invitation this time, something in the set of his boyfriend’s shoulders that morning told him that he needed some alone time with his friends. He recognises that the two former Gryffindors are as much a part of Harry as his magic, as his scar.

It surprises Draco sometimes that while he will always be a little jealous of how close the three were, he has no fears about them anymore. He knows that Ron and Hermione can provide things that Harry needs and Draco may never truly understand. He also knows there are things only he can provide to the Auror and feels secure in his position.

So he’s taking the day to try and get some unpacking done. It’s been over a month since they’d moved into the small cottage outside the city, but with their hectic schedules they haven’t had a chance to empty the last of the boxes. The telly plays quietly in the background as Draco putters around the house—with Harry as his teacher he’s learned to work and appreciate muggle technology, has even been thrilled with their ingenuity.

The afternoon sun drifts through the open window with the breeze as Draco drags a trunk out from under the bed, sitting on the duvet in front of it as he wordlessly spells it open. He isn’t really paying attention, there’s a song stuck in his head and he’s humming absently as he looks down. Laughs slightly as he realizes it’s got to be Harry’s school trunk from the several lion emblems he can see inside.

Draco’s smile turns fond as he reaches in; Harry has always been ridiculously sentimental and can be somewhat of an emotional hoarder. The physical record of his life lay in every part of their house. On the back of the sofa is a thick blanket Molly had knit him for his first flat, books from Hermione tucked next to the television, a set of paper mache Skrewts dangling from the kitchen window made by Luna, a faded orange Cannons jersey on the bedroom floor from Ron.

Parchment snags against the edges of Draco’s questing fingertips and he gently tugs an open envelope from the trunk. The green ink and familiar coat of arms are easily recognisable and he chuckles at the sight. Of course Harry would have kept his acceptance letter, it had been the moment his whole world had changed.

He’s about to put it with the rest of the items when the address catches his eye.

_Mr. H Potter_  
_The Floor_  
_Hut on the Rock_  
_The Sea_

A frown slips into the corners of Draco’s mouth. Hut on the Rock could have been just the name of the house, but that wasn’t what he was focusing on. Why was it addressed so specifically to Harry’s location? His own letter had merely stated Malfoy Manor under his name. And why was Harry sleeping on the _floor_ at age eleven? His mind whirls over the thought and it occurs to him suddenly that Harry doesn’t speak much of the time before Hogwarts.

Draco sits there and reflects back on every snippet of information he can recall about Harry’s childhood. He knows that Dumbledore was the one to place him with his aunt and uncle after his parents died. He knows the man doesn’t keep in touch with them but has had lunch with his cousin a few times. He knows Harry had always stayed at the school for holidays. He knows that Harry had no clue he was a wizard before his letter.

Nothing further drags itself to the surface which causes his frown to deepen. How does he know so little of his boyfriend from before they’d met? Draco starts to think about the things he’s learned about Harry since school. A memory of Harry in bed that morning pops into his head first.

Harry has always been a light sleeper. It didn’t matter if he was totally exhausted, the slightest sound could rouse the man. And unless he was bone tired he would also always sleep curled up tight, even when he had the entire bed available. Draco had joked about it once as they snuggled in the early morning light.

“My room was a cupboard, not everyone had a king sized bed from infancy.” Harry had teased before getting up to make breakfast. At the time, Draco had been intent on keeping the man tucked up against him and hadn’t paid much mind to the comment. Now it causes his brow to furrow as he tries to puzzle out the past.

Food was another odd quirk he’s noticed. If a plate is put in front of Harry it’s a guarantee it will be cleared within about ten minutes. He eats everything and quickly, no matter if he likes it or not, if he’s full or starving. Cooking is a task he enjoys and Harry loves feeding people, _especially_ Draco. Even if Draco gets home first, it’s usually Harry that makes dinner.

But there’d been a week a couple months ago when Draco had to go on a trip for work. He’d returned to see Harry had lost almost a stone in weight and the slight dullness to his skin had scared Draco. The apology that followed his fearful rant about the man needing to take better care of himself had broken his heart.

“I’m sorry, Draco. I just forget to eat if it’s just me sometimes.”

Harry hadn’t elaborated and the guilty look on his face had prevented Draco from pushing it. Instead he’d just hugged his boyfriend tightly before leading him to the kitchen. He’d made Harry sit on the rickety bar stool near the stove while he’d made dishes Draco knew he loved. Mashed potatoes, roasted veggies, _coq au vin;_ all carefully prepared and loaded onto a plate for Harry.

Draco had started leaving notes for him when he wouldn’t be around to remind Harry to eat. Included simple things on the grocery list that don’t require preparation when the effort of providing for just himself is too much for the man. The weight is quickly regained and the glow restored, Draco had made a mental note to return to the topic at a better time. But then life had caught up with them and the incident fell to the back of his mind.

Running a thumb absently over the embossed wax seal of the letter he still held, Draco looks around their bedroom with new purpose. A ratty grey cardigan that is more mends than original is thrown over the chair in the corner. It’s far to big for Harry, he has vague memories of seeing it on Hogsmeade weekends back at Hogwarts. When they’d first started dating Draco had gone over to his place and noticed the man drowning in the fabric as he sprawled on the couch with a book. He’d offered to replace it but received only a shrug in return.

“It’s the only hand me down I ever liked, it’s warm.”

And then there’s the way Harry is with children. He can be loud and boisterous, and Draco knows from first hand experience he’s not afraid to argue or yell. But if there is a child around Harry’s voice will not rise, no matter how upset he is. When he babysits Teddy or the little Weasleys he never punishes them for misbehaviour. He will always sit down on the floor so he can look them in the eye and quietly talks to them, listens to them, calmly explains how to properly express their needs and wants.

It’s awe-inspiring to witness and Draco’s definitely had to stand possessively behind the man the few times there’s been a meltdown in public—the competent paternal energy that radiates from Harry in those moments tends to drive people mad. More than one woman has attempted to walk over with hunger in her eyes only to catch the look on Draco’s face and decide against interrupting.

He can hardly blame them much as he drives them off, there’s been a few times he’s gone a bit light-headed at the sight of Harry cradling a sleeping toddler in his arms as he gently rocks them in the chair he’d brought from Grimmauld Place, humming tunelessly in the dim light.

Ron had commented on the way Harry had with the kids one time when they’d been watching Rose and Hugo. The boy had gotten upset about something and Harry held him, got him calmed down, allayed his concerns.

“I don’t get how you never get frustrated,” Ron said incredulously as he swayed with his now drowsing son tucked against his shoulder. “I love them, but even then sometimes they’re energy is a lot to handle.”

Harry had passed Rose to Hermione as she stepped through the Floo and smiled softly at the quiet snores coming from his goddaughter. “Punishment and yelling never worked with me, no matter how bad it got. Kids are smart, you just have to talk to them like it.”

Draco had noticed the glance Ron and Hermione shared over their children's heads when Harry turned to grab their bag from the hall. It almost looked like sorrow. He’d wanted to ask about it, but Harry had come back and they left shortly after.

_Mr. H. Potter, the Floor._

The curling emerald script burns in Draco’s gaze as he slowly puts the pieces together. Harry had slept in a cupboard—not a joke about room size but a literal gods be damned _cupboard._ He ate like it would be taken away and forgot to entirely if he wasn’t providing for others. He refused to act in anger towards children. He was always aware of a room’s exits and sometimes, when too tired to control his reactions, flinched at slamming doors and loud noises.

Horror dawns slowly in his heart as Draco sits on their bed and the answer comes to him in dreadful clarity. The saviour complex, his utter devotion to his found family, the awareness he had about the people around him. It all suddenly makes sense and Draco wants to bawl.

His head whips up as the familiar _crack!_ of Apparition sounded outside. The lock clicks open and he hears the front door squeak open and close again.

“Draco? I forgot Rose’s present, do you—”

Harry walks into the bedroom distractedly and stops dead at the sight of Draco surrounded by his school things, tears shining in his eyes, agony twisting his face. Instantly he takes the few steps between them and kneels by his boyfriend’s knees.

“Love, what’s wrong—” he starts, doesn’t get far though because Draco drops the letter to throw his arms around Harry’s neck, drags him in as close as he can.

“I didn’t know,” he whispers brokenly into the warm skin beneath his lips. “I should have, but I didn’t and I’m _so sorry."_

When Harry doesn’t respond Draco pulls back enough to look at his face. Green eyes are caught on the letter beside them and he can see the confusion in them fade to sad understanding. Harry sighs before turning to press a kiss into Draco’s arm.

“It’s in the past, Draco. It hasn’t hurt in a long time,” he tries to sooth but Draco is suddenly furious.

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen! How could Dumbledore leave you there when they fucking—”

_"Draco."_

Harry’s voice is firm but not unkind as he interrupts his boyfriend’s spiraling thoughts. Draco can feel how wild his eyes must look, the anger and sorrow raging in him making his limbs tremble with the effort it takes to contain them. He wants to scream until his throat bleeds, wants to track down the muggles and give them every single thing they ever did to Harry, wants to bring the old headmaster back from the dead so he can properly kill him this time.

Harry looks into his stormy face with such a calm acceptance that Draco can’t rage against it. He lets himself be uprooted from the bed to be wrapped in Harry’s arms and tries to bring his emotions under control. They sit there in silence for a long moment, a hand running slowly up and down Draco’s back, his own fingers fisted tightly in the other man’s deep maroon robes.

“When I was a kid, the only thing I ever wanted was to feel loved,” Harry eventually says and the words stab directly into Draco’s heart. “I dreamed of running away. The days I wasn’t allowed food I thought about the future when I would have a full kitchen I got to control. I would have given anything to escape the Dursleys, even thought about dying a couple of times when it got bad.”

A choked sob escapes Draco at that point and Harry pauses to squeeze him tightly, draws a string of tender kisses across his face. It takes a few minutes for Harry to continue.

“I hated Dumbledore for leaving me there, once I learned about Hogwarts and everything. I was so angry for a long time, and if I had been in his shoes I don’t think for an instant I would have made the same decision. But I can’t look back on it all and let myself be miserable about it. I can’t let them ruin all the good that I’ve built since then.”

He gently forces Draco to meet his gaze. There’s a soft, compassionate smile on Harry’s lips and he _has_ to kiss him. Tries to pour all his sorrow and love and admiration into it so Harry will know that Draco will always be grateful to be included in the good things in the man’s life. Harry meets him in the middle and accepts everything given to him. When they break apart he’s looking at Draco like there’s nothing more beautiful, nothing he’s ever loved more.

“I could think myself sick about what happened, but where would that get me?” he asks, doesn’t expect Draco to answer. “I would rather let go of the shit and be happy for the lessons I learned.”

“What kind of lessons—” Draco starts but falls silent at the patient look Harry gives him, watches as Harry takes his hand in his own to tick off his list.

“I learned to be self-reliant, I know you’ve never complained about my domestic abilities—” a snort from Draco as he thinks about the fights over laundry eases some tension in Harry and he continues. “I can compartmentalize if I need to, I learned how to fight back. I grew up knowing to trust my gut and that has saved my arse _so_ many times.”

As he speaks he lightly nips at each of the fingers in his hand, serious but still eternally playful. It astounds Draco always that despite the horrors Harry has faced, he somehow has never lost that child-like wonder. It’s something he will do anything to protect.

“Do you know what I learned once I left all that behind?” Harry asks, but the way the light falls across his eyes and highlights the small strands of gold and blue strikes Draco stupid for a moment. It must show in his face because Harry snickers and kisses him senseless. Then he’s grabbing Draco’s other hand and dragging them up to stand. One arm goes around his waist and Harry’s spinning them around the cottage in an uncoordinated waltz that has Draco gasping with laughter.

“Once I got to Hogwarts I learned that family didn’t have to mean _blood._ I learned how to turn my anger into action. I learned to dance—”

“Even McGonagall’s lessons couldn’t get through to you—”

“I learned to _dance,_" Harry repeats as he twirls Draco haphazardly and the way he says it gives the man pause. Harry’s not saying that he learned to dance well, it occurs to him after taking in the goofy smile with the one dimple that drives Draco absolutely insane tucked cheerfully at its edge. He’s talking about the fact that he found the joy to dance at all.

Harry must see it click for him, that Draco understands what he means, and nods.

“The best lesson I ever learned though, came after I left the Dursleys and after I left Hogwarts. I never expected it, let alone from such an unlikely place.”

There’s a hand in his and the other on his waist as Harry sways them slowly in place, Draco wants to burst into tears at the warm affection gleaming from behind the man’s gaze.

“What was it?” he hears himself respond quietly. They come to a stop and Harry releases his waist to cradle Draco’s cheek, smiles like the sun coming out for the first time after rain.

“I learned by watching you that anyone can be more than they were, as long as they are willing to try. You taught me how to _forgive._ I would still be hurting so fucking badly if I hadn’t seen you after the war. If you could be more than what your parents taught you, more than the darkness you overcame, what excuse did I have to wallow? I was lost after it was all over but you showed me how to move on. I _might_ have killed myself as a kid, I honestly don’t know. But if you hadn’t found me, I definitely would have once the war ended.”

Draco is silent, stunned frozen by the raw honesty in Harry’s voice. He can remember those early days so easily, he was reeling from the war and had desperately needed anything to ground him. He certainly hadn’t expected it to be _Harry._ They’d both been in the middle of training at the Ministry—Harry as an Auror and Draco as an Unspeakable—and hadn’t been able to avoid each other.

Whispers followed Draco everywhere in those days and he could always feel hostile eyes on him. He’d kept his head down and tried to not let it bother him because he absolutely deserved every cruel comment and hateful gaze, he had no right to deny them. But then he’d been in an empty training room after a particularly biting lecture, flinging hexes at the targets wildly and wanting nothing more than to make something break down into dust. He hadn’t much cared if it was the target or himself.

Harry had walked in, and to this day Draco doesn’t know what had brought him there, but the man had walked in and seen the state he was in. And there were no whispers, no lectures, no vitriol or satisfaction in his eyes at how Draco gasped raggedly. There had only been understanding and his own weary sadness. Harry had asked him quietly if he was hungry, dragged him home, fed Draco fresh bread with butter and a big bowl of hearty soup with no expectations of him.

Draco had woken the next morning on Harry’s sofa with Molly’s blanket thrown over him and it felt like the clouds had broken. When Harry had brought him tea with a brittle smile he’d known it was all over, he would do anything to make that smile brighter.

When Draco’s brain catches up to his racing heart he still can’t find the words he wants. A wounded noise gets past his lips and he’s practically climbing up Harry’s body, trying to find a way under his skin so he can never be separated from him. Arms come up under his legs and he crosses his feet behind Harry’s back, attacks his mouth as Draco tries to shove everything he loves about him down his boyfriend’s throat.

Harry laughs as they kiss and it melts him completely. Draco doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forgive the many people who should have protected Harry and failed utterly. Should he ever encounter the Dursleys he doesn’t think he’ll be able to rein in his tongue, will destroy them with words only because he knows Harry would be upset if he did anything more permanent.

But the man he loves is alive and well and the person he is because of the things he’s experienced. Harry Potter would not be _Harry Potter_ if he hadn’t fought against the repeated abuses of the ones who should have cared and proved to the world it didn’t matter that they’d tried to break him down.

Harry is a phoenix rising and the way he laughs into Draco’s mouth feels like a healing spell cast directly on his soul.


End file.
